


Amenity

by holtzgay



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-05-02 12:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzgay/pseuds/holtzgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betty finds comfort in Joan when she realizes Don is everything that is wrong for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Betty restlessly tapped her foot on the floor of the cab. The snow wasn’t helping the traffic; the traffic wasn’t helping her patience.  
Earlier in the morning Don and her had gotten into a fight. One that ended with silent threats: Don with furrowed brows, and Betty with drowned eyes. She begged him for what she felt was the millionth time, to tell her the truth. She didn’t quite love him anymore. But, the betrayal, the dishonesty, the secret that was his life kept her unhinged. The only thing that mattered to her was the truth.  
She would bang on his chest with weak fists as he tightened his grip around her thin wrists to stop her. For too long now, she knew he was cheating. But he was persistent. He used his advertising schemes and clever coos, insisting he was just working late. She wanted to spit in his face.  
“Birdy, I’m not lying to you.” She thought he was pathetic. After years of being terrified of divorce and its stigma, she felt a warmth from it now. Freedom, and the promises it held of happiness and honesty, was welcoming.  
She watched the small flecks of snow fall towards the road as her fingers twitched and shook in her mittens. She told herself the uneasiness she felt wasn’t worth it. It was almost 7 o’clock. If Don was there, he was. And she’d leave, and feel slightly relieved but have to remind herself he’s still unfaithful. If he wasn’t there, he wasn’t. She’d sit on his sofa and observe the empty bottles of liquor and say goodbye to the office she felt an awkwardness being in. She’d be right all along.

The taxi pulled up to the building. The driver was about to get out to be a proper gentleman and open Betty’s door. She insisted that she was fine. It was freezing, and besides the lights of Madison Avenue, it was already dark out.  
The elevator ride did little to warm her up. And the office was practically empty, with the heater off. There was a thick coat of toasted air that had a ghostly presence in the office, however. Most of the lights were off, except for a room down the hall, on the opposite side of Don’s. She wasn’t surprised to see that his door was shut and the only thing pouring out of the crevice underneath the door was more darkness. She didn’t understand why, but she opened the door. There was no one there, of course, just a sense of hard work and day drinking that still lingered. She flipped the switch to the lamp next to the couch and sat down.  
Betty didn’t have an exact plan on what she was going to do next. All of the anger and frustration she had with Don, was not because she loved him. It was the foolishness she felt. He always had the ability to make her feel like a child. A little girl with a father she looked up to who paid little attention to her. It was never what she really wanted. In another world, she’d have that lukewarm feeling in her belly. The feeling of giddiness, the feeling of immense pleasure that you’ve just taken a bath in, and soaked it up. She’d never really felt that. Ultimately, she just felt lonely. 

She was caught off guard while focusing on a small piece of trash on the carpet when someone walked in. Her heart leapt a bit in her chest, but filled her numb body with a glow when she saw who it was.  
“Mrs. Draper? What are you doing here so late?” Joan asked, concerned. Her eyes were kind. She was well kept, even at the end of the day. Her skin was pearl white, and it looked cold to the touch.  
Betty shook her head slightly and looked down at her gloves. “I’m sorry, Ms. Holloway. I didn’t think anyone was here.”  
Joan breathed in deep, trying to think of what to say. “I believe Mr. Draper has left for the day. I don’ think he has a dinner scheduled. He must be on the train back home.”  
Betty smiled hopelessly. She appreciated the humility, but knew that wasn’t the case. Joan probably had no idea where Don was, just like everyone else never knew.  
“No, I don’t think so. Thank you, though. You don’t have to worry about me, I think I’ll be on my way.” She rose to stand up, smoothing out her dark blue dress underneath her coat. She felt embarrassed, her cheeks their own heating systems. Blushing her skin to a perfect pink.  
Joan’s eyes glanced to the clock on the wall. “How will you get home? I don’t think the next train is for a while. You can’t stay out in the city this late, in this weather.”  
Joan had a matronly ambience to her. In the nurturing way, where you wanted to crawl into her arms on a windy night under heavy blankets. Where she’d stroke your hair and it’d make your scalp tingle, and it’d feel like cold water was showering on your skin. Betty’s eyelashes fluttered up. She redirected her thoughts. Joan stood in between the door; fingers intertwined at her stomach, looking worried.  
“Really, I think I will be alright.” Betty said, unconvincingly. Her eyelashes flickered hastily over her blue eyes, like they always did when her nerves acted up. She wasn’t very good at hiding her emotions. The loneliness crawled up her stomach, and worked its way behind her eyes. She could feel the pink spreading in her eyes, like watercolor on white paper, as she tried to hold back her tears.  
As one slid down her cheek, Joan’s eyes brightened with care, and she walked over to mend Betty’s sorrow. Her arms wrapped around Betty’s sunken shoulders, and she guided her back down to the couch, where they both sat. Her hands rubbed her wool coat. Betty imagined they were icy, but soft.  
Joan didn’t say anything. She didn’t know much about Don, but she knew enough. About how private he was, about how much time he spent out of the office, but not at home. She knew how men, in general, behaved. She figured her presence was enough comfort for now.  
Betty’s crying was released from her efforts to hold back. She forgot about Don for a moment. Actually, he completely vanished from her mind. He didn’t show affection. He was dry. He soaked tenderness up, and it was never let back out of his body. Who knows where it went.  
She felt waves of shame, and then it turned into relief. Honey-filled relief, that revived her quick heart, and settled it back down. Flustered, she sucked up the heartache, and looked at Joan. “Thank you. I know, I shouldn’t be here when Don’s not here.” She felt like she could say anything without repercussions when she looked in Joan’s sapphire eyes. “We aren’t well. I don’t think I can handle it anymore, Ms. Holloway.”  
“Joan.” She corrected.  
“Joan.” Betty smiled, mouth closed. Joan’s hands came up to wipe the damp face, fingers grazing makeup-covered cheekbones. Her hands weren’t cold at all. They were warm, and they left a patch of blush over Betty’s skin. It reminded her of when the iron touched her arm, for the slightest second. It felt like nothing, and then it felt like everything in a matter of time. It was rushing. She pulled away.  
“I’m sorry,” Joan said quietly, her voice trailing off. She smoothed her dress, and looked down at her lap.  
“You don’t need to apologize.” Betty said simply. She wiped her face with her own hands, and swallowed hard. “I feel, strange, tonight. I know that things aren’t going to be the same when I go back home. Or when I see him again. Things haven’t been normal, I guess. For a while now.”  
Joan wasn’t sure what happened, but she understood. Her understanding for women ran deep. Deep in her veins, and through her heart. She wanted to care for them; to stroke their cheeks in times like these, and be the only one in the room with a woman were no man could touch them. And in her dreams at night, when she had no control of her conscious, she dreamed of kissing them.  
“Where are your children?” asked Joan.  
“They’re at home. With Carla. I told her I’d be back late.”  
“Well, good. It’s late, and you’re shivering. I can’t send you back home alone like this. I don’t trust the nighttime in New York. You can stay with me. Until the morning, at least. You can ring Carla at my home, and tell her to stay the night.” Joan said, standing up.  
Betty felt a fire in her throat, but it didn’t burn. It melted the hollow feeling away. She stood up, she wasn’t going to try and modestly say no. She’d let her body and mind do what it wanted, and put aside nerves and worries. She grabbed Joan’s hand and squeezed it, mitten to skin, and thanked her.


	2. Chapter 2

They left the office together. They left it dark, and cold, as the heat finally disappeared. The elevator ride was silent, but not uncomfortable. They took pleasure in the silence, their breathing the only thing they were paying attention to. Betty thought it a luxury, standing peacefully without having to say a word. Not having to concentrate on the back of her partner’s head trying to solve what was going on in it. She was relaxed.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
By the time they arrived at Joan’s apartment, they hadn’t spoken much. New York was still quite loud and busy, and they sat in appreciation of it instead. They exchanged a few words every now and then, accidentally asking a question at the same time.  
“I’m sorry, you go first.” Joan said, somewhat embarrassed.  
Betty pursed her lips. “Are you planning to settle down soon?”  
Betty was surprised by the fact that Joan hadn’t married. She could imagine the way all the men in the office looked at her. With deepened red hair, up in pinned curls. Her pink dress complimented her light skin, and her dark blue eyes made others feel lustful. They drew boys in, but she never gave them the satisfaction of getting close enough. Betty imagined they wanted to get as close as they possibly could.   
She could imagine the women. Green jealousy itching underneath their skin. Fear. The way she strutted, effortlessly, down the hallway, clearing it. Everyone gathered to the sides. Who would want to get in her way?  
Betty couldn’t relate to the women. She couldn’t tell if she related to the men, either. She couldn’t tell what was stirring in her abdomen. It felt like a mixture of lust and envy.   
“I haven’t found the right man yet, I suppose.” Joan replied. ‘It’s hard to when you work in an office full of ad men. I don’t know how you manage.”  
“I haven’t, really.” Betty said. She looked down at her hands but they weren’t shaking. It almost worried her that they weren’t.

Joan’s apartment reflected her. It was different than their Draper home. The walls were salmon pink, with blue lining. It felt lacey, with white dining furniture. It smelled like roses. It was absolutely girly, and Betty admired that. She’d love to have something to touch that was hers, and nobody else’s.   
“Oh, please ignore the mess. I hadn’t expected anyone tonight.” Joan mentioned in a hurry, picking up a few pieces of clothing off the loveseat. Betty’s eyes caught the vase of red roses on the small table next to the sofa, in perfect bloom. The apartment was like a dollhouse.  
“Please, it’s no problem at all, Joan. I’m thankful you’re letting me stay the night here.”   
Joan smiled at Betty as she walked out of her room, after finishing her quick cleanup. “Of course.” She watched as Betty rubbed her arms, coat still on, still cold from outside. “I’ll turn on the heater.”  
“Thank you,” Betty replied, sitting down on the sofa, heels and coat still on. She played with a petal of a flower with her fingertips as Joan worked with the thermostat. She loved the way a rose felt. It was like silk, and she wished she could fall asleep in its sultriness.   
“Damn it.” Joan whispered to herself, fiddling with the thermostat.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“I can’t get it to work.” She sighed, and walked towards her heels that lay in the front doorway. “I’ll be right back.”  
“Where are you going?”  
“I always ask one of my friends a few floors down to fix these kinds of things for me. He’s very good at it.” Joan said, slipping on her second heel, and examining Betty. “You should get comfortable, take your heels off.”  
Betty slipped off her black pumps, and placed them neatly underneath the coffee table. She exposed her warmed hands to the chilly air and placed her gloves on the table. “Are you sure? I think it’s quite late.”  
“Oh it’s no bother at all. I do this a lot.” Joan answered. She left through the door, and Betty could hear the sound of her heels get smaller and smaller.   
She wondered how often Joan really did do this. How elated the man was to see Joan when he opened his door. She bet he dreamed when he could be more than just her little helper.   
Betty stood up; the bottoms of her feet were slippery against the wood floor. Joan’s apartment was small, but cozy. The kitchen reminded her of what she wanted when she was a little girl: black and white tiling, polished white oven and stove, and a pastel tea set.   
Joan left her bedroom door open. Betty walked in, wood floors turning into a soft carpet. The bed was covered in a dark turquoise, silk quilt. She ran a hand over it; it was cold like kitchen tile in the early morning.   
Against the wall was a white vanity, it’s desk topped with makeup, powders, and brushes. She visualized her high school self in an apartment like this. A sleepover with her best friend. She wished she’d known her in high school. She could picture Joan doing her makeup for her, applying a dark red lipstick, and then evening it out with a single finger. She’d tell Betty to pull back her lips, and then pucker them to smooth everything out. Betty would do it with eyes interlocked. She’d take Joan’s hair out of the up-twist it always seemed to be in. It would fall to a mess. A soft, untangled mess. And when she’d run the brush through it, the curls would disappear for a moment. As it finished its comb, they would reappear.   
They’d sit on her bed and gossip. About nothing important. They’d talk about a boy who’d been giving them uncreative letters in their locker. They’d talk about young love. And first kisses. And a feeling they’d never felt in them before, of butterflies tickling their stomach walls.  
Without thinking, Betty opened up the top drawer underneath the vanity. It was a pool of deep colors of purple, black, and red. Lace and silk and chiffon. Betty knew what it was, but she pulled one out anyway. A black, satin bottom, with the garters attached. She pushed it back in with the rest when she heard the front door open. She closed the drawer and breathed through her nose, closing her eyelids down hard.   
Betty and Joan met in the living room. “I was just admiring your bedroom. It’s all very… adorable.” Betty said. She didn’t feel she used the right word.  
“Oh, thank you.” Joan smiled. “He wasn’t home, apparently. I’m surprised.”  
“That’s alright. A few blankets will do just fine.”  
“Okay.” Joan replied. “I don’t know why the heater’s doing this. Out of all days, when you are here. I’m embarrassed.”  
Joan's face looked flushed. She sifted through a cabinet filled with linens, pulling out a white fleece blanket.   
“Oh, don’t feel embarrassed at all. I’m sure it’s hard to live on your own. But you are doing so well. It’s really inspiring, Joan.”  
Joan’s head was low as she unfolded the blanket. Her eyes followed the front of Betty, who was now standing in front of her. She peered up at her with the smallest smile. “I’m glad you think so.”  
Betty took the blanket from Joan and walked over to the sofa to lay it out. Joan brought over a pillow from her bed, a turquoise one that matched her cover. Betty couldn’t wait to lay her heavy head over the silk of it. She placed it at the end of couch.  
Joan looked around, as if she was missing something. “Right, you need something to sleep in. You’re so thin, I’m not sure if you’ll fit in anything of mine.”  
She walked back into her bedroom and Betty got up to follow her. Joan slid open a drawer underneath the vanity, to the right of the one Betty had just opened. She was worried somehow Joan might just be able to tell someone had gone through it.   
“You’re just, perfectly curved, that’s all.” Betty commented. She blushed at her own remark. “I can imagine you had modeling offers all the time.”  
Joan tried to hide her grin. “I guess a few. It wasn’t for me, though.”  
“I did some modeling. It was an experience.” Betty had mentioned this to a lot of people. It filled her with pride. It was one thing that she accomplished, all by herself.   
“It’s not surprising. You’re very beautiful.” Joan commented, with confidence.  
Betty bit the inside of her lip. She didn’t want to show emotion, whatever it was she was feeling. “Do you happen to have a cigarette?”  
“Oh, of course!” Joan grabbed a box and a lighter out of her purse and handed it to Betty. Betty took the cigarette. She placed it in between her lips and Joan flicked the lighter. The small flame glowed in Joan’s eyes as they followed it towards Betty’s cigarette. Betty’s eyes stayed steady on Joan’s. It was one of her favorite things, watching the person lighting her smoke. The flame was lit inside her, warming her up briefly while her skin remained cold. It was her insides that bubbled at the smallest moments of intimacy.   
She wasn’t used to not smoking for a few hours. Her last one was right before she left home, if she remembered correctly. It calmed her. It brought her back to herself, to reality, where she was sane in her thoughts. When thoughts arose of fire and rose petals and silk sheets, she had to halt her mind. It was confusing, and some times the urges were so strong she felt a physical pull against her own body, ceasing it from acting upon its ideas. She walked out of Joan’s room.  
There was a phone next to the couch. She dialed her home, and after 2 rings Sally picked up.  
“Hello?”  
“Hi Sally. It’s Mom. I need to talk to Carla.”  
“When are you coming home?” Sally pried, her voice high pitched, and youthful.  
“Can you give the phone to Carla, please?”  
The conversation went dead, for a moment.  
“Mrs. Draper?” Carla’s soothing voice was on the other line.  
“Carla. I’m sorry. I need you to stay the night. It looks like I’ve missed the train back.”  
“Where are you staying?”  
“At a friend’s.”  
“Alright. It’s fine.”  
“Thank you.”  
They exchanged short goodbyes. She hung up to find Joan in the doorway, leaning against it. She held a lavender slip in her hands. She’d already changed. It was a black night slip, shimmery, looking like it could melt through your fingers. Her hair and makeup were still together, though.  
Betty stood up and was handed the garment. It did feel like it might slip off her fingertips. She appreciated the way Joan loved glamour, and beauty, even when she was alone.   
Joan closed her bedroom door. Not completely, as you could see the light from her bedroom, and part of her bed. Betty pulled off her tights and immediately felt more comfortable. She reached for the back of her dress. The zipper was high and Betty wasn’t as flexible as she had been as a young girl. She struggled for a good minute, not wanting to say Joan’s name again. She still wasn’t used to it. She was always just ‘Ms. Holloway.’ Someone she saw walk down the hallways of Don’s work, someone who people watched from afar and were too nervous to make an effort to start a conversation.  
“Joan?” She gave up.  
“Yes?” Joan said, opening the door.  
“I’m… having trouble.”  
Joan walked over, giggling lightly. She unzipped it, her pupils dilating at everything underneath. Betty wore a black bra, and her torso curved in at the sides like a small hourglass. Her garter belt was scalloped, a see through black material, and Joan stopped there.  
“There you are.”  
“Thank you.” Betty glanced over her shoulder. Joan was already on her way back into her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this is teasing. i think next chapter i will really get things going. i hope you like it! please leave feedback :)


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